A Legacy
by anyone-anyone-bueller-bueller
Summary: Okay, I'm not really sure where this is going yet I pretty much only have the plot of the frame story worked out But... try it? It's [shocker!] about Phil and Keely. Have fun.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: mmk… Here it is. So far, I've only got the frame story worked out, so… any thoughts, ideas, suggestions? You know what to do. Coughreviewcough Thanks for reading

The worn soles of my blue canvas sneakers offered little traction against the slippery water soaked stones. I did my best to keep up with the long strides of the brown-haired boy in front of me, hopping from rock to rock and praying under my breath I wouldn't fall. The water streamed smoothly past our rock trail, the browns and grays of the creek bottom visible through the gentle push of the current.

"Careful -- the next one's a little tricky," he called back as he deftly lept from one slippery surface to the next. "Uh huh. Sure," I nodded hesitantly, unconsciously tucking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth. Safe on the other bank, he turned around, watching me and waiting. I looked up, catching the teasing glint in his eyes, the tug of a mocking grin on his lips. Defiantly, I held my breath and jumped for the leaf-covered shore.

I landed butt first in the ice-cold water, jeans soaked and shoes water-logged. I looked to my companion, but he was doubled over, overcome with peals of laughter. Eventually he straightened up and saw the death stare I was shooting him.

With a rakish grin, he extended his tanned arm. "Need a hand?" he drawled condescendingly. "Not from you, you little bastard!" I shot back. "Me? Little?" he scoffed, a peacock strutting his tail feathers, drawing himself to his full, newly acquired stature of "six feet and three quarters inches." I pulled my hand back and splashed him cleanly in the face, then grabbed him around the ankles. He fell into the water with the yelp of a little girl, arms flailing wildly.

Within minutes we were both soaked, my black hair plastered to my head, his navy blue tee shirt suddenly skin tight, revealing his subtle muscle definition. Gleefully, I poked my best friend in the stomach. "Been working out?" I teased. A rosy flush spread across his cheeks, and I smiled, which soon turned into a shiver as a crisp autumn wind blew. "Are you okay?" he asked, a look of concern in his brown eyes. He reached out and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, gently massaging my chilled skin. It felt natural, comfortable, but, "I wouldn't be sitting here freezing my ass off if it weren't for you, park ranger boy." I quickly reached for the nearest rock and smoothly pulled myself out of the stream. "Now how do we get there?" I asked the soggy lump behind me. "Just follow the trail," he mumbled. Jeans dripping and shoes sloshing, confidently I continued the hike. I placed one foot in front of the next, not looking back to the source of almost all my teenage angst.

I remember when I first met him, in eighth grade, back when, at five foot seven; I was still taller than he. I walked into the school library, a stack of books for my English project precariously balanced in my hands. And, characteristically, proceeded to trip in the most dramatic, embarrassing way possible, falling flat on my face as the books flew in a thousand directions. Face flushed, I groaned, crawling around on my hands and knees to gather them up. "Want some help?" I looked up and my gaze met the most sensitive pair of brown eyes I'd ever seen. He reached out his hand. "Robin," he introduced himself. "I'm... a total klutz. And, my name's Yael," I responded as I shook his hand.

It wasn't until months later, as we sat on the blue striped rug on his living room floor, studying, that I asked him. "What kind of a name is Robin, anyway?" He looked at me reproachfully. "I'm named after Robin Hood."

"Yeah, right, Mr. Hood. Seriously." I challenged. He sighed, "Okay, well. I'm named after my grandfather. He died, like, right before I was born. But, his name never really suited me, so I go by my middle name."

"Wait, wait, wait! You go by Robin _voluntarily?_ What was your grandpa's name? Doyle?"

I could hear a pounding of footsteps and the sounds of heaving breathing behind me. "Jeez, Yael. Where's the fire?" I did my best to ignore him, concentrating on my dirty shoelaces. "Yael?"

"Oy. I just want to get there. The faster we get to your dumb aunt's house, the faster I get warm, okay? Plus, honestly Hood, I don't want your one memory of this escapade to be me falling into a creek, 'kay? I don't know why I even agreed to do spring cleaning for some random lady I've never met. It's fall."

"Thanks. She's my aunt, remember? Besides, I only asked you because you're the one who spends days looking at old junk. You love history, remember?" I blushed. So, he was right, just because he knows me way too well doesn't prove anything.

Eventually, the trees began to thin; the trail widened. Scanning the clearing, I saw it, Robin's aunt's house. The old fashioned wooden porch was carpeted with dead leaves; paint was chipping off the wooden columns. Everything about the house looked as though it had seen better days, and that it belonged in the middle of suburbia, not some random forest.

"Your aunt lives here?"

"Well," he considered, "I think she used to? She travels a lot anyway. This was my grandparent's house. I think my mom just sent me so I'd get out of the house..."

"And, it's always been... here? You sure they didn't dig it out of some clean-cut, picket-fenced neighborhood and plop it down here?"

"Umm... Maybe," he muttered as he pulled the battered key from his back pocket. I gave him a funny look as he clicked the key into the old fashioned lock. With a push from his shoulder, Robin opened the door. Together we walked into the dusty darkness. I felt the wall for a light switch, and a flickering bulb light up the entryway, revealing the staircase. He turned to the right, leaning over his shoulder to ask, "So, where do you want to start first?" I stayed behind him, switching on lights.

I examined the pictures on the shelf of the living room. A red faced, brown haired baby in the arms of a tired but smiling mother. Two toddlers sitting on the steps we just passed, a girl posing with her blond haired dolly, the boy pulling on his sister's pigtail. At the sight of the next picture, I almost gasped, and grabbed it off the shelf to inspect it more closely. "What the hell? When'd you go to France, Robin? You're always complaining about how you've barely been out of the county. We were gonna go together. Why are you standing in front of the Eiffel Tower and what's with the funny hair cut?" And who's that gorgeous girl standing next to you, I asked myself. The girl standing next to him had her arms wrapped around his elbow. Her head was tilted back and she was laughing, her golden curls glinting in the Parisian sunlight. And there he was, looking at her with those brown eyes as though she were the only girl on the planet, the only woman in the universe. Who was she? How did she make him smile like that?

"Oy, Yael, you're insane. That's not me. Those are my grandparents, Phil and Keely Diffy."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Woot. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. Although, I have to admit – writing with the knowledge of an audience, hella freaks me out. Anyway, I love ya all! And let me know if you guys can come up with any better Robin Hood jokes, 'cause… mine were bad to begin with and they're just getting worse. Also, sorry – I think I was really stretching Keely's character by the end of this. I'm not sure if any of it works at all. I mean, jeez, there's no pressure with the character's _I_ made up, but… Okay, sorry, this short little note's getting rant-y. Still love you, still thank you, still… keep reading.

"Wait a minute. You chose Robin over Phil! You think the name Phil is worse than Robin?"

"Thanks for the self-confidence boost about my name, Yael. If you must know, I'm named after my maternal grandfather, Lazarus."

"Okay, okay, I see your point. But... Damn, what were you parents thinking? Lazarus Robin Diffy?"

"Oh my gosh, yes, shut up," he moaned, "I've had to live with the name for sixteen years; I don't need you rubbing my misfortune in my face."

"Well," I thought out loud, still gazing at the photo, "What were your other grandparents like? Why don't they live here anymore?" Robin came up behind me, his elbow on my shoulder as he too studied the faded picture. I turned my eyes away from the couple as he spoke, watching as a lock of brown curls fell in front of his eyes. "I think they're taking some kind of world tour, to celebrate their fiftieth anniversary."

I eyed the rest of the photos. The same two in front of landmark after landmark. "Looks to me like they've already seen the world."

"I know," he sighed with resignation, a wistful look in his eyes. I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Chin up, King of Thieves. We'll get out of here someday. We'll, we'll see the world," I promised, hoping to bring the dancing light back into his eyes. "Let's just... get started cleaning," I finished lamely.

Robin nodded absently, than shook his head, as though snapping himself out of something. Carefully, he placed the wooden frame back in its place. "Let's start with the top of the house," he suggested. "We can work our way down, then out."

Moments later, we sat in a sea of dusty boxes and broken lamps. Sighing, I grabbed the nearest one, labeled "Baby Things/Tax Stuff" as Robin reached for another. I opened the bent cardboard lid, coughing as a cloud of dust floated up. I sifted through yellow pages of numbers, chewed up baby rattles, faded blankets. Half way through the box, my hands struck something that wasn't gnawed or slobbered on.

I held it up against the faint light the bare bulb cast around the musty attic. It was a small blue book with a suede cover. "Hey, Robin, look at this," I called as I opened it to the first page. In the top left hand corner, scrawled in loopy, bubbly cursive, it read, "Keely Teslow, 2005-6"

"What is it?" Robin asked from across the room, his head buried in old parkas. "It's - it's your grandma's journal!" I exclaimed. "From sixty years ago! Imagine what life was like then!"

Robin looked worried as he glared at me from across the room. "No, Yael. We cannot read that. It is a complete invasion of privacy. I can't do that to my grandma." I started flipping through the lined pages.

"Holy shit," I breathed. "What? What!" I eyed him innocently. "I thought you didn't believe in reading yow gwamma's jouwnal." I taunted. He lunged for the small blue volume. I sidestepped in anticipation, and he barreled head-first into a lampshade. I giggled.

"Give it to me!" he shouted. "Let me think about it," I pretended to ponder. "Eh, okay." He snatched the book from my hands and sat down on the wooden floor, beginning to devour the words. "Hey, hey, Hood - you gotta at least read aloud," I snapped.

"Yeah. Sure," he nodded. "Okay... Where to start?"

"January 4th, 2006

So, today was the first day back after break. I hadn't seen him in a while - Mom and I went on our ski trip - and there he was, standing by his locker, just like every school day. Yet, he seemed different standing there. It was as though... had his eyes gotten browner? Was his hair silkier? I had to consciously restrain myself from reaching over and running my fingers through it. My heart started beating more quickly, something in my chest I couldn't quite identify contracted.

"Hey," I let out, as casually as I could when he flashed his trademark grin..."

I fought the illogical urge to make sure Robin wasn't reading my journal, scanning my deepest thoughts. I tried not to notice how rosy my cheeks flushed as he continued reading.

"April 16th, 2006

The day after taxes. The day when the entire adult population of the country is breathing a sigh of relief. And here, I am, sitting on my bedroom floor, trying my hardest not to cry. It's not working. I should just - I mean, right now, everywhere, there are people worse off than I. People who are starving, little kids who are dying, poor, hard-working families who are just down on their luck. Okay, perspective is not working. Now, I'm just crying harder. The world is terrible enough as it is, why did this have to happen?

Phil just waltzed in, and, he kissed me. My first kiss. It was... I mean, I'm know there are plenty of people out there with horror stories about their first kisses. "Our braces got stuck." "He rammed his tongue down my throat." "He totally missed my mouth." But this, I don't think I can even describe it in words. I was there, and he was there and he kissed me. Then he left. He had to. He had no choice. I know it.

And then, that kiss still fresh on my lips, I floated through the rest of the day, walking on a cloud as I passed from class to class. But, by the time I was walking home, all alone, the cloud had begun to fade. It had turned into a fog. Everything I passed was duller, blurrier. I guess I was in a masochistic mood, because I decided to walk by Phil's house. It was as though the fog got thicker with every neighborhood landmark I passed. Finally, I ended up on the sidewalk outside of his front walk.

And then it was like a ray of sunshine burst through; the fog thinned and disappeared as I saw a brown-eyed boy running towards me. It was too much. All of a sudden the sky was too blue; the lawns were too green. Looking around me hurt my eyes, so I focused right in on his. They said even more, as he spoke to me, "Look, Keely. I know you might not believe me, but I will come back. Yes, I'll wait for you, but I'm coming back. Damn the laws." And, even though he's shorter than I, he always seems taller. He lifted up my chin and I saw his face, the heart breaking beneath his carefully shielded features. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around him, and, his embrace surrounding me, I just felt safe..."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Er… here it is, the third installment of the saga. Yeah, I know, preeeetty engaging stuff. Do you have a problem with my self-deprecation? Eh, sucks for you. Well… I love all of you guys reading this! Thank you so much. I'm really not confident in this at all, but… I figured I had to start writing it sometime. Had to… keep the story going or something… I don't know. I'm weird. Let me know if this is hard to follow, too. I'm not sure. Maybe it's supposed to be? A final word of … something: Please, please, please, please, please What? Didn't you know repetition is the key to everything? review! Please?

"No, no, Vee, you know I love to hear from you, but-" Keely was distracted. She glanced around her apartment, absent-mindedly twirling her long golden hair around her fingers. "You know my thesis is due next week."

"Yes, but I also know I haven't talked to one of my best friends in over three months. Come on, Keely. What's the problem?" Keely looked up at the ceiling in annoyance, and mumbled something about school stress.

"Keely, that is a load of complete crap and you know it. School has never been a problem for you..." It was true. After he left, Keely had dealt with it the only way she knew how. She threw herself, all her energy into the one facet of her life she knew to be unchangeable. School. It was always there; it was always boring. But, at least it was something. Once Phil left, Keely virtually lived at H.G. Wells. Owen kept jokingly asking if she'd filled out a change-of-address form yet. Keely's only solace was book learning, and eventually it paid off. A full scholarship to her top-choice school, Amherst. Four years later, she'd graduated magna cum laude, then headed off to the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern. After seventeen years of education, Keely was almost finished with school forever.

"Fine. It's not school."

"So? It's him, isn't it?"

"Via, Phil Diffy-" her voice cracked as she spoke his name for the first time in years, "is not the source of all my problems." Phil - he wasn't the reason for this uncertainty, this wild spinning feeling she felt in her gut, every time she thought about life after graduation. This uncertainty, sudden second-guessing of her life-long dream. Would Phil really make it any better?

"Come on, Keely, I'm the practicing psychologist here. He randomly left in the middle of your formative teenage years, just picked up and left without so much as a postcard coming your way. That's the textbook definition of trauma. Now, according to Freud..." Keely let her mind wander as Via drifted into her psychobabble.

Would he have made a difference? She could still picture his arms around her, comforting her. The lopsided grin he would flash at her, as he reassured her. Maybe she would believe everything really would be all right if she could hear it from him. Yet, she had moved on.

She was a different person. She knew he had to be different, too. Besides, she had an entirely new life now. She was no longer the carefree, happy-go-lucky girl of fifteen she had been when he'd fallen in love with her. When she'd fallen for him.

"Vee, think about this realistically. It's not healthy to blame all my issues on some boy."

"And you're the picture of mental health," Via muttered.

"What did you say? Anyway, you need to think realistically about this. We were sixteen. Even if he had stayed, we'd have lasted a year at the most. Honestly, Via, it was _high school_."

"Yes, but the way you guys looked at each other. Keel, it's undeniable."

"Don't call me Keel," she demanded, more harshly then she meant. She could feel the hurt look on Via's face. "No, no, I'm sorry. It's just."

"Look, don't hate me, but... you guys were brilliant together." Keely sighed.

"Via, I still need to go."

((My indicator of a scene change is NOOOOT working, so, imagine one of those weird little symbols here. Sorry if that breaks up the story.))

There were no thoughts running through his mind as his feet led him down the familiar path. Rain trickled down the inside of his waterproof collar. Phil didn't know why he came here. It seemed like some sick inner torture. Whenever he felt at his worst, a lost man in a desperate world, he always found himself here, back to this site to remind himself just how alone he really was.

He stepped across the soggy grass, not stopping until he kneeled in the wet blades. Unshed tears in his eyes, but acceptance in his heart, he read the engraved stone he knew by heart. Slowly, he spoke to himself.

"Keely Ann Teslow. March 23, 1990 to September 6th, 2014." He watched as it continued to rain, the fresh water collecting in the crevices of the engraving. As Phil looked at the surface of the pool, he saw his life reflected back at him. Emptiness.


End file.
